


Anything Could Happen

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Just to be clear this is a Bronn/Jaime fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: The war is over, and it turns out Bronn is inconveniently in love with his best friend. The best friend who is suddenly scheduled to be married after a poorly-timed celebratory kiss. With the woman who also wasn't exactly ready to settle down just yet.But it's too late now. They all have to follow societal expectations....Yep, that goes *really* well.A story where everyone somehow wound up with the wrong partner, and now they have to figure out how to fix it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be 100% clear, this is a Bronn/Jaime fic (because the tags are difficult to work with when there are multiple ships going on, and I know this will show up in the Jaime/Brienne tag).
> 
> Inspired by the film 'I Give it a Year'. Title from the song by Ellie Goulding.

“So then you just asked her to wed you?”

Bronn didn’t get it. Jaime, standing opposite Bronn at the bar, shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze. Around them, in the noisy Wintertown tavern, the victory celebration raged on. Bronn couldn't see a clock, but it was definitely past midnight. Which meant, with very little advance notice, Jaime was going to be married today.

Jaime answered slowly, uncertainly. “Well, everyone saw that kiss, so… It was… expected.”

“So you kiss _one time,_ and that means you have to marry?” Bronn asked again, sceptical.

Jaime took a slow sip of his ale, avoiding Bronn’s gaze. “I don’t know,” he said, reluctant. “I would have asked eventually anyway.”

Bronn took a deep swig. “You love her then?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the bitter ale.

Jaime tilted his head, and put on that voice he sometimes did. The one where he sounded like a spoiled rich prat. “Yes, _love,_ one of the many deep emotions I’m definitely capable of.”

“Right,” Bronn said flatly, and turned his attention to Pod, who was staggering past with a full mug. He didn't fancy the lad making himself sick, so snatched the mug and downed it himself. Pod seemed barely to notice, just laughed at his suddenly empty hand and turned to join Sandor and Arya at the table behind them.

"It's just, Jaime..." Bronn said, turning back to him. “Are you’re sure you’re comfortable with this, and all? It’s not that long since you left your sister, you know. Way I see it, there’s no need to rush.”

“It would have dishonoured her if I hadn’t asked…”

“I’m not talking about her.”

Jaime shrugged, awkward. “It’s normal for a groom to feel uncomfortable before a wedding. Not that _you_ would know. Anyway, Cersei is… that’s in the past now. I’m happy about this. The Queen has gifted us the old Tarly estate. And Brienne… Brienne cares about me. No one else does,” he added flippantly.

Bronn gave him an odd look. “What d’you think I’m doing up here, you silly cunt?” he muttered, and took a deep swig, but didn’t miss Jaime’s flinch.

He at least had the grace to look somewhat contrite, though he didn't respond. Instead, he said, “What will you do now?”

“Dunno,” Bronn shrugged. “Thought we might’ve had a few more adventures together, you an’ me.”

Jaime drained his drink and didn’t reply. Bronn ordered more, and they waited in silence while the barkeep refilled them. This was the third drink, and Jaime was already starting to look slightly unsteady.

“Well,” Bronn said, picking up his glass, “the war’s won, and you’re soon to live happy ever fuckin’ after. Let’s play cards.”

 

Three more drinks later, Bronn was being destroyed at cards by Sandor Clegane. He threw his final hand down and Sandor laughed, scooping them up.

“Better not let him sleep through his fuckin’ wedding,” the man said with a snort, nodding at Jaime, who was slumped against Bronn’s shoulder, breathing slow and steady. Bronn let him be, sitting back to finish his drink. He watched as Sandor eliminated the rest of the men at the table, mildly glad he wasn’t the only one to be so thoroughly beaten. Then, the tavern broke into one more raucous round of the new victory song, and Jaime jolted awake.

“Gods,” Jaime mumbled in shock, which was about the worst he ever swore.

“Alright, Lannister?” Bronn laughed. Jaime blinked blearily, looking around as though he didn’t know where he was, and Bronn couldn’t help throwing an arm around his shoulders. Jaime even joined in for the chorus after he recovered from the shock of waking up.

When it was over, Bronn pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s go, Lannister. You’ve gotta be good to go in a few hours.”

“I’d fancy another ale, though,” Jaime slurred, making an unsteady step towards the bar. Bronn pulled him back, though he was tempted to just let him throw up all over his lady bride in the morning. “Nope. Not happening. C’mon.”

He pulled Jaime out of the tavern. He knew Jaime didn’t normally drink much; this was probably the most Bronn had ever seen him have. Out the door, into the light snowfall, then they had to navigate the steps. Jaime stumbled down and almost lost his footing at the bottom. Bronn grabbed him, not entirely steady on his own feet, and set him against the wall for stability, leaning there a moment himself until the slight spinning in his head came to a stop.

As his focus returned, he noticed that Jaime’s fist was bunched in his tunic, and his eyes had suddenly regained some clarity.

“I don’t really want to do it,” he slurred, earnestly.

Bronn sighed. They were so close their breaths mingled together in the cold air. He dropped his head until his forehead rested against Jaime’s.

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly.

“I do,” Jaime replied, resigned. He was still holding Bronn’s tunic, keeping him close, and Bronn’s hands were still clasped on his elbows. Jaime’s breath stuttered, and then he breathed something that could have been Bronn’s name, and tilted his head back against the wall.

Their lips brushed together, just slightly. It wasn’t a kiss. But it was close.

Bronn froze in place. He knew he could take it further. But he didn’t know if Jaime actually wanted him to, or if this was just the ale. Instead, they just rested there, still against each other.

For all of ten seconds, until the tavern door slammed open and several men piled noisily out, and they sprang apart.

 

After depositing Jaime in his room, Bronn made his way through the cold hallways, back to his own quarters. He wanted to turn back at every step but forced himself on resolutely. He pulled the ends of his sleeves down over his hands and tucked them into his armpits against the cold, his breath misting the air as he descended a staircase down to his level.

He stopped at his door, reached in his pocket for the key, and was trying to get it into the lock when right beside him, out of the darkness, a figure materialised.

“Fuckshitfuck,” he blurted, almost dropping his key before realising who it was: Arya, wearing a broad smirk.

“No need to be scared,” she said smoothly.

Bronn rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that?”

“You didn’t complain when it was wights I was sneaking up on,” she replied, unconcerned, following him into his room.

“Aye, but there’s no more wights now, are there, lass?” he said, closing the door behind them.

“I know, it’s so _boring_ ,” she sighed, flopping onto his bed.

“Boring? You know, there's plenty of things you can do with your time other than killing. Would've thought you'd've discovered them by now; you're not _that_ young, are you?”

“ _Yes_ , I've discovered them,” Arya replied with a glare. “That's mostly boring too.”

He took a moment to stoke the hearth, adding logs for the night, brightening the room as the flames licked up hungrily.

“What are you gonna do now, anyway?” he shot over his shoulder. “Pick out the most eligible bachelor to marry, I expect?”

He was prepared to dodge the shoe she threw at him, but saved it from the fire. “Actually,” Arya replied smugly, “I thought I might at least stay around for tomorrow. It might be entertaining to watch your heart get broken.”

Bronn’s stomach turned over. He grimaced, and got to his feet. “Interesting that you assume I even have a heart, lass,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “It’s flattering, really.”

She was watching him closely now, and he knew it was unlikely he could hide his true feelings from her. He hadn’t yet met anyone who could.

She shifted back on the bed to lean against the headboard, crossing one foot over the other. “I saw you with Jaime Lannister just now.”

Bronn scoffed. “All I was doing was making sure the stupid cunt didn’t fall in a ditch and die of frostbite on his way back to—”

“Didn't look like that,” Arya cut in. “Looked more like you wanted to fuck him up against the tavern wall.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow, and took his time replying. “Now, I know he _looks_ like a princess, but you do know he's actually a _man—_ ”

“For fuck's sake, Bronn,” Arya cut him off, loudly. “Cut the bullshit. You should tell him how you feel. It’s not too late.”

Bronn opened his mouth to argue, and then paused as he processed everything she just said. After several seconds of struggling with the words, he sighed and sunk down on the edge of the mattress, his back to her.

“I can’t, lass.”

“Why not?” she asked impatiently.

“What would be the point?”

“ _Uh_ , well, he might feel the same way but never knew you were interested? He might call the wedding off and you’d both ride off into the sunset to live happily ever fucking after?”

Bronn turned to squint at her. “Oh aye, that sounds likely.”

“Anything could happen,” she said with a shrug. “It's not impossible. And I’d put money on him having been with a man before.”

Bronn sighed. “Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter. Trust me; I’ve known him for years. Even if he did— _want_ something, he wouldn’t let himself. He’s so repressed and just _tight_ and… And he’s completely fucked from his sister and everything that happened. He ought to take a good few years to find himself again instead of jumping straight into a new relationship—”

“Sensible advice. Too bad _I’m_ not the one who needs it.”

“It’s too late, lass, alright? There’s nothing to be done. Just leave it.”

Arya just rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a bottle of liquor that was far larger than someone her size should have been able to conceal, and tossed it on the bed. “Where are the cups?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this idea in my head for a long time, and hadn't quite figured out a way to do it, but when I started writing Bronn & Arya as friends, it all just fell into place (seriously, *why* have I never written them as partners-in-crime before?? They have so much in common...)  
> Anyway, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, in comments or [on Tumblr.](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

Bronn caught Jaime in the stables the morning he was due to leave, the day after the wedding. He’d considered just making himself scarce until they were gone; that would have been easier.

“Well, just tell them we don’t need the carriage.” Jaime’s voice carried through the stables as Bronn slipped in the back door, and he paused behind the stalls to watch Jaime’s discussion with his new wife. He wondered if they’d managed to complete the deed last night. He’d spent a fair bit of time wondering about that, actually.

“But we do, for the luggage,” Brienne was saying.

“I don’t understand the problem.”

Brienne threw her hands up in frustration. “They expect me to ride in it. I’m perfectly capable of riding a horse.”

“I don’t think there’s a single person in Winterfell who doesn’t know you can ride a horse,” Jaime said with an easy smile, turning back to whatever he was doing with a saddle sitting over one of the stall walls.

“Then why do they expect me to ride in a carriage now?”

“They’re being polite. Just tell them you don’t want to. Though to be honest, I wouldn’t pass up the carriage ride, if there was anyone else I trusted with this fellow.” He nodded at his horse, still in the stall. In response, Brienne just huffed and threw her hands up, turning to stomp out of the stables.

Jaime stood watching her go with a bemused expression. Bronn chose that moment to step out into the open.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked. It came out more sarcastic than he intended.

Jaime turned to him, a smile on his face. “Bronn!” he said, setting down his saddle brush. “I was worried I wouldn’t catch you.”

Bronn nodded, feeling suddenly stiff. “You’re all set, then?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s a long journey.”

“You’ll have a hero’s welcome at every inn along the way.”

Jaime nodded absently, and glanced at the doorway before taking two steps closer to Bronn. “You’ll come and visit soon, won’t you?”

“Might do,” Bronn said. “Not sure what I’ll be doing, to be honest. Never did get that castle from you,” he added, teasing, but only slightly.

Jaime’s face fell. “Well, if I come across any castles, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Well then.” Feeling awkward, Bronn held out his left hand for Jaime to shake. “Best of luck, Lannister,” he said gruffly.

Jaime looked crestfallen as he took Bronn’s hand, and Bronn knew he expected something more from this, but he didn’t know what he could give. Jaime’s expression hardened after a moment and he tugged on Bronn’s hand, pulling him closer to embrace him.

Jaime didn’t say anything, so Bronn didn’t either, he just put his arms around Jaime, squeezed once, briefly, and then waited. Jaime didn’t withdraw. He stayed with his face pressed into Bronn’s neck for three, four, five seconds longer. Then, finally, he withdrew.

“Visit soon,” he said, his voice thick, and Bronn nodded, but he already knew he wouldn’t.

 

 

— Six months later —

 

 

Bronn sat concealed inside a damp bush. The dew in the ground had soaked through his breeches as soon as he took his place, but there was nothing to be done about it now. His knee itched; he ignored it. He tried not to blink or he might miss the first appearance of the men riding into the pass below.

As it turned out, he heard them before he saw them; they weren’t being cautious. Raucous voices made their way through the morning mist. The first horse appeared, and Bronn remained still until they were well into the designated kill zone.

Then, his joints aching somewhat, he stood, his bow already knocked. He took out three of them before they spotted him, and when he saw one of them reach for his own bow, he took his cue to scramble backwards out of sight. Right on time, he heard the corresponding _thwish_ of arrows coming from the opposite side of the pass. The men were shouting now, in confusion and horror. He heard hoofbeats, as one of them tried to run for it. He took the chance to peer over the edge of the cliff again.

And sighed.

Arya had come out from cover, and was sliding down the almost vertical cliff face opposite, daggers already drawn. That was their plan out the window, then. He hurried down after her.

There were four men left. One had already tried to run, and Nymeria had burst from the trees at the end of the pass to tear his throat out. Terror was in their eyes now, as the wolf finished with that one and turned her eyes on the rest of them, and Arya and Bronn blocked their escape.

It was over quickly.

When all the men were dead, Arya rifled through their pockets until she located the thing they’d been sent after; a small leather sack with deed titles inside.

“This is it,” she said, holding it triumphantly aloft. Bronn was still cleaning the blood off his sword, and he glanced over at her.

“Thought the plan was to take them all out from cover.”

“One was going to get away,” Arya replied, frowning. “I couldn’t leave Nymeria to fight alone.”

Bronn glanced at the wolf, who was sitting happily licking at the blood on her paws.

“Nymeria would’ve been just fine by herself.”

“Would’ve taken longer, though.”

“Aye. Also would’ve been less dangerous.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “This wasn’t _dangerous_.”

He found a few more coin pouches and pocketed them, then straightened. “You know I’m not in the business of risking my neck, these days. Already done plenty of that for one lifetime. And it’s not like we’re short on work, you know. If a job gets too risky, we can just not do it.”

Arya muttered something about ‘boring’ and possibly ‘old’, but Bronn chose to ignore that.

“C’mon,” she said aloud. “Let’s get back.”

They scrambled back up the cliff on the eastern side, and made their way back along the ridge to where their horses were tied up. It was an hour ride back to the village, and the light from the rising sun and the wind on his face made Bronn stop thinking about the risk and start thinking about the new coin in his pocket, and the rest that would be incoming for this job. He had been trying to make himself save, instead of living day-to-day like he always had, but it was _hard,_ and he hadn’t given himself a reward for a while. There was a brothel in the town, and he thought they even had one or two male whores. Arya would roll her eyes at him, but he could live with that.

They returned to the inn. The sheriff, who had commissioned them for this job, was already there waiting in the otherwise empty dining hall, and Arya went to close the deal with him. Before he could follow her, Bronn was stopped by one of the maids.

“Ser Blackwater?” she asked. “A letter’s come for you.”

He took the well-worn envelope she handed him, and fished a coin out to pay for her trouble. He wasn’t sure how a letter could have found him here, but as he looked at the trail of inns scratched into the directions on the back, he saw that it had been following him for some weeks.

He drew his knife to split it open, then sat at the closest table to unfold the pages, slightly water-damaged at the edges, but readable. His stomach turned over as soon as he saw the handwriting; it looked like a seven-year-old had written it. Well, perhaps an eight-year-old, he decided, noting a few small improvements to the shaky letters since the last time he’d read it.

 

_Dear Bronn,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_We are settled at the old Tarly estate. It is a nice place, though I find my days are now occupied dawn to dusk with the running of it. It's not quite the lifestyle I ever expected to have, and I can't say I'm particularly good at it. But the place hasn't fallen apart just yet, so I thought I'd write and see if a letter could find you._

_I'd hoped to see you before now as a visitor, though I imagine you're having a much more enjoyable time touring the countryside these days, especially in this nice weather. Still, I wanted to ask, will you come and visit soon? There are some very good cooks here, and the vineyard produces nice wine, so I think it would be worth your while. It would be nice to see a friend._

_Yours,_

_Jaime_

 

Bronn turned it over to read it a second time when it was suddenly snatched from his hands as Arya walked past.

“Hey!”

She flicked him a coin pouch in place of the letter, and he couldn’t help taking a moment to count his earnings, but in that time Arya had already scanned the letter and seen the sender.

“When are we going, then?”

“Going where?” he asked, distractedly.

“To visit him,” she said, brandishing the letter. “He sent this ages ago.”

Bronn scowled. “Just because that cunt Lannister sends me a letter doesn’t mean I have to jump to it. I’m not his fuckin’ slave. I don’t know if I want to visit.”

Arya frowned at him, and jabbed a finger at the paper. “He sounds _sad,_ ” she said. “You _have_ to go.”

“I doubt he’s sad,” he rebuffed. “More likely he’s rolling in money and wine, and already has little’uns running around, and—”

“Bronn, it’s only been a few months,” Arya said, with a rare grin.

Bronn raised both hands. “It’s not like I’ve been counting the days since I last saw him.”

Arya got to her feet. “Well, now you can count the days til you see him again instead! Come on, there’s no reason to hang around here. This sounds much more interesting. Let’s go.”

“Hey, it’s not some kind of spectacle just to entertain _you_ , and you weren’t even invited, by the way,” he called after her, but she was already heading up the stairs to her room, presumably to get her things.

Bronn sighed and followed after her, pausing to pick up the letter she’d left on the table. He folded it carefully back into its envelope, and slipped it into his jerkin pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought, or chat with me [on Tumblr!](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/) ^_^
> 
> Thanks very much to [sarcasm_for_free](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasm_for_free/pseuds/sarcasm_for_free) for the valuable beta!


End file.
